On The Run
by thecayleigh
Summary: About an OC girl Sherlock meets after the fall. No romance, but possibly swear words later on, I don't really know what'll go into this so I'll put it as T just in case. I've never done fanfiction before, so I'd appreciate any input! :)
1. Chapter 1

Sherlock Holmes wandered the streets of Uppsala, a city north of Stockholm in Eastern Sweden. Anyone in Britain would recognize him, but Sweden had never cared about the adventures of the consulting detective and therefore none of them would be suspicious of his alias: Alexander O'Sullivan. He claimed to be a recently transplanted immigrant from Northern Ireland. As nearly all Swedes spoke English, he didn't have too hard a time of things getting around.

Sherlock didn't feel lonely, exactly, except for the absence of his best friend. John always made it easier for him to think aloud, because it was, apparently, weird to talk to yourself. Or a skull. As a result, Sherlock had been actively screening some of the residents of Uppsala for how interesting they had the potential to be. So far nobody had caught his eye. He didn't mind. Alone was what he had; alone protected him. He only regretted that he was left to deal with the world's stupidity all on his own.

One Tuesday evening he spotted a teenage girl walking with a backpack around the back streets of the city. Nothing seemed extraordinary about her except that she was an orphan, living at an orphanage and vehemently avoiding it. She was decently intelligent, but beyond that level it was hard to discern exactly how intelligent she was. She clearly did sports, from the tone of her muscle, but there was a thin layer of fat there that suggested sports weren't what she was best at. Sherlock found himself wondering if she was really good at anything. She'd lived in Sweden her whole life, but she'd been on numerous trips outside the country.

Sherlock was bored, and she seemed interesting, so he followed her. The girl picked the lock of an upstairs flat like she'd done it a million times. Sherlock ran and stuck his foot in the door before it could close.

"Vem är du?" the girl said immediately as she turned around.

"I don't speak Swedish," Sherlock said in his faux Irish accent.

"Who are you?" she translated.

"Why, you're quick. My name is Alexander O'Sullivan."

The girl shook her head. "No, that's not it."

Sherlock's eyebrows shot up, impressed at what he could tell was a deduction. It wasn't a lucky guess. "Do you read the British papers? Watch BBC?"

"Occasionally, if it's interesting, but I find it's normally rather dull." That immediately made Sherlock categorize her as either a show-off or an honest person with a developed intellect.

Sherlock sighed and released the accent. "I am Sherlock Holmes."


	2. Chapter 2

"I am Sherlock Holmes."

"Oh!" the girl exclaimed. "Come in, please."

"So you have heard of me?" Sherlock couldn't say he was surprised. Smart orphans paid attention. "I haven't caught your name."

The girl sat in an armchair in the apartment that didn't belong to her. "Lena Fir."

"How long ago did your parents die?"

Lena's head snapped in Sherlock's direction. "I've heard you were good, but I didn't think you were that good." Sherlock smiled, not quite seriously. "They and my brother died about a year ago, in Leeds."

"Your tone of voice says murder."

Lena sighed. "I wasn't there, but I found my way to the crime scene rather quickly. It was the gardener, but the police don't believe me. Nobody noticed the earring."

"Funny; I said the same thing."

"So you heard about that?" Lena said, unsurprised. "I can't blame you for dismissing the case. It wouldn't have brought them back to life anyway, and it was generally quite boring for a triple murder."

Sherlock nodded in agreement. "Why are you so keen to avoid the orphanage?"

Lena didn't even ask how Sherlock knew about that. "I like my privacy. There is no privacy in an orphanage."

"I can tell you're a very intelligent girl. You must go to school, the orphanage wouldn't allow you not to. Tell me, Lena… Tell me what you can about me. Skip over whatever you've heard through the papers. That's all either false or obvious. Look at me, and tell me what you see." Sherlock thought it ought to be quite obvious that he was extremely bored, or else he'd be finding a place to sleep for the night instead of testing the intelligence of a teenager.

Lena switched on a nearby lamp, the better to analyze the consulting detective. "You've got a best friend - scratch that, I already knew that much. Hm. Okay, you've just come in from the rain - well, we both have - why are you posing as an Irishman? Anyway, you love to figure things out, especially murder cases for some reason, and when you've got nothing interesting to think about or learn, you get indescribably bored. Up until just a moment ago, you were. I can tell you're not anymore because your hands were fidgeting, your leg was bouncing. Now, though, you're a bit more interested. You leaned forward, your head rests on your hands."

"Elementary. Go deeper." He was slightly impressed - most people were mundane and mediocre and wouldn't have been able to tell that, but it was current and therefore easy in Sherlock's eyes.

Lena's brow scrunched, characteristic of confusion. Sherlock was disappointed. "Wait, wait, don't give up on me," she insisted. Oh, so she'd noticed it. "When you get too bored, you turn to drugs. It's almost like an addiction, except for it's only when you're bored. You're addicted to your work, when you've got none of it you have to smoke or inject something into yourself. It started because you were curious, and you liked the feeling because it took your mind off the boredom. I understand…" Lena's face lit up, apparently with intense pleasure at this newfound understanding. Sherlock could relate.

He smiled, something he rarely did around people he'd known for less that an hour. "Okay. How did you know?"

"If you're wondering, I haven't done my research."

"I wasn't wondering that at all. Answer the question."

Lena wet her lips. "Your body language said happy when I told you my family'd been murdered, you wanted to solve it." Sherlock noticed that she had a starkly British accent, no trace of Swedish in her voice. "The boredom I understand personally, but I already explained that. Again, body language. We've been over this, of course. Now, the drugs. Your hands shook, almost undetectably. You wanted some. That wasn't enough to go off of, of course. Your thumb was twitching a little, like you wanted to squeeze a syringe. Aside from all that, I know the feeling and I've done my share of unsavory activities out of boredom."

Sherlock nodded again. "I have to say, Lena Fir, I'm impressed. Of course it's nowhere near my level of deduction, but you're only a teenager, after all. Speaking of which, how old are you? Fourteen, fifteen?"

"Fifteen. And you, Mr. Holmes… thirty-three?"

"Good guess." Sherlock knew it wasn't a guess, and he didn't feel threatened by the girl. To this point he'd seen no evidence that her intellect cam near matching his. It was a sort of teasing, but no one ever knew when he was teasing.

"Thank you." It was also teasing; great, she'd understood. No one ever did. "Listen, I know you're under an alias and you haven't got enough money to pay rent yet. I know the owners here, they wouldn't mind if you slept over. Just not in the beds."

"I wasn't asking for it."

"Not voluntarily, but I can tell you need it."

Sherlock was perplexed. People rarely offered him things like shelter. Was there a catch, or was this orphan just particularly intelligent _and _kind?

"One thing, though," Lena said. "How could _you _tell all those things about _me_? I know you know more than just that I'm an orphan. Explain."

So Sherlock explained. He spoke quickly, so that she wouldn't forget her offer, but she seemed to follow his every word, attention rapt. After he was finished, Lena's eyes had widened a great deal. "Amazing. Simply amazing," she commented, reminding Sherlock of John's comments. "Alright, so, since you haven't rejected my offer I'm assuming you've accepted? Great. The couch opposite is open, you can sleep there."

Sherlock nodded. "Hm… thanks." He recalled that John would have prodded him to say that. Thinking about John made his heart hurt a little, but he thought he might have a new companion to fill the next couple of months before he returned to life in England. "Thank you."


End file.
